Lawyers, governments, money and risk-taking have given relatives a new life

Updated 11:33 pm, Tuesday, March 12, 2013

It happened Saturday, after Yoenis Céspedes got word via text message that his mother and 11 other relatives had landed safely in Miami, the end of a harrowing yearlong journey that began with their defection from Cuba.

Céspedes was ambushed in the clubhouse by A's batboys, who sprayed him with Champagne to celebrate his family's freedom. Céspedes then caught a red-eye to Florida and surprised his kinfolk early Sunday morning.

"No one knew I was coming," Céspedes said Tuesday. "Everyone was sleeping, so I turned on all of the radios, all of the TVs. Nobody woke up, so I went upstairs and started knocking on all of the doors and screaming."

That side of Céspedes, the giddy screamer, is one that most of us in the Bay Area haven't seen.

In his rookie season, Céspedes was very quiet and kept pretty much to himself in the A's clubhouse. Near the end of the season and in the playoffs, he became even more withdrawn, sometimes declining to speak to the media.

Yoenis Céspedes says he can relax and concentrate on baseball now that most of his family is in America.

Yoenis Céspedes says he can relax and concentrate on baseball now that most of his family is in America.

Photo: Michael Macor, The Chronicle

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Before he was with the A's, Yoenis Céspedes represented Cuba the last time the World Baseball Classic was played, in 2009.

Before he was with the A's, Yoenis Céspedes represented Cuba the last time the World Baseball Classic was played, in 2009.

Photo: Denis Poroy, ASSOCIATED PRESS

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Cespedes' story

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We didn't know that while he was putting his heart on the line for his team every night, he was also suffering with every scrap of news regarding his relatives' increasingly desperate attempts to join him in America.

On Tuesday morning, Céspedes said he was "very happy. So much happiness."

Then he tore down the fences in batting practice and frolicked on the field like a colt.

The details of his relatives' adventure have not yet been fully assembled, and Céspedes didn't have time Tuesday to give the media a blow-by-blow, even if he had the details. It had to be an ordeal.

Now that he's free of that emotional burden, who knows how good Céspedes can be as a ballplayer. It can't hurt that he has re-established close connection with his No. 1 batting coach, his mom.

Estela Milanes Salazar, now 44, was for a decade the best (according to Céspedes) left-handed softball pitcher in Latin America, and a member of the Cuban Olympic softball team in 2000.

Céspedes said he grew up on softball fields following his mom's team, which played for the city of Granma. His mom's only child (he has two siblings on his father's side), Céspedes said he often cut school to be at her games. Céspedes claims his mom could chuck the rock 80 mph. Once she threw him an unexpected curveball and conked him in the ear.

"She's going to be my second hitting coach," Céspedes said.

He said his mom was able to watch some of his games last season on TV, and offered him tips, via Skype. The most important one, he said, was "Concentrate, focus at the plate."

That wasn't so easy when Céspedes' mother was stuck in a hellish political/bureaucratic limbo. Details are hazy, but here's a skeleton account:

Céspedes defected from Cuba two summers ago, and in February 2012 signed a four-year, $36 million contract with the A's. Not long after that began the effort of his mother and the 11 other relatives to defect from Cuba and come to the United States, an effort probably funded by Céspedes' new wealth.

The 12 escaped Cuba and made it to the Dominican Republic, then wound up on Turks and Caicos Islands, where in October, they were captured as illegal immigrants, suspected as subjects of a human-trafficking ring. They were held in indefinite detention, and their fate eventually came down to a ruling by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.

Céspedes might have felt like something of a hero when his sudden, hard-earned wealth seemed to buy his mom's and family's ticket to freedom. Then the plan unraveled, and he became the man whose money had placed his loved ones in a jeopardy much worse than they had endured in Cuba.

Céspedes had occasional contact with his mother during much of the ordeal, but he said there was a stretch of three or four days when they fell out of contact, and he had no way of knowing their fate.

Then they were freed. Did palms get greased? Did simple justice and human rights prevail? How close did Estela Milanes Salazar and her group come to falling deeper into a legal morass, and possibly being sent back to Cuba?

That's behind them now. Céspedes and kin celebrated from early Sunday morning to early Monday morning, then he flew back to Arizona.

We can't hit the happily ever after button just yet. Céspedes' 3-year-old son, Yoenis Jr., is still in Cuba with his mother. Céspedes hasn't seen the boy in two years, and that, apparently, is the next goal.

That and baseball.

"Last year, I tried to concentrate and put (the troubles) aside," Céspedes said, "even with all of those issues going on. But this year my mind is going to be completely clear."

On Tuesday, Céspedes scorched a ground-rule double down the left-field line against the Royals, driving home a run. It probably had something to do with focus and concentration.